


Lived Like a Man Confined

by Alcoholic_Kangaroo



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/M, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28377597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcoholic_Kangaroo/pseuds/Alcoholic_Kangaroo
Summary: It's Huey's job as the big brother to follow in Donald's footsteps and be there for his brothers.
Relationships: Della Duck/Donald Duck, Huey Duck/Louie Duck
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	Lived Like a Man Confined

Nobody has ever spoken of their father. The entire family acts as if he never existed, as if their eggs had just grown inside their mother’s belly without the need of outside DNA. Immaculate conception two point oh. There had been a brief period when they were very young that Louie had begun referring to Uncle Donald as “Dad” after another child on the playground has explained to him that girl parents are “Mom” and boy parents are “Dad,” but Uncle Donald had put a stop to that by the time they started kindergarten.

“I don’t mind it, really,” he had said, holding the three of them all on one knee as they had been so small back then. His eyes had been damp and his voice had caught in his throat in a way that had made it even more difficult to understand him than usual. “I am your dad, according to the adoption papers, but it will complicate things later on.”

He had taken out a sheet of lined paper and charted out a small family tree for them, explaining who their mother was and how she was related to him. They’re still family. They share the same genes. Their mother had been his sister in the same way the three of them are brothers.

“Brothers and sisters do not have children together,” he said, but he didn’t explain why they didn’t except to say that only married people have kids and brothers and sisters don’t get married. They were too young to understand where babies came from at that age and didn't learn the truth about bastard children, like themselves, until even later.

“But brother and brother can get married, right?” Louie had asked, hugging Huey around the middle as he tended to do back then. His lifesize security blanket that hugged him back. “Because I’m going to marry Huey someday.”

Huey had noticed the momentarily look of dread on Uncle Donald’s face that day, but only years later did he begin to realize what it meant. Louie’s innocent proclamation had been the naïve words of a child, barely out of his diapers at that age. Four-year-olds more preoccupied with Dora the Explorer and Lego blocks than things like weddings, and babies, and _incest_.

Maybe Uncle Donald caught on to what they did together at night but if he had, he never said anything about it. Maybe he knew how normal it was for kids to be curious. Maybe he understood the bond of triplets for he was a twin himself. Maybe he had walked in on them, catching them unaware, and had just walked out, pretending he had not seen what he had seen. The three of them curled up in a heap of feathers and child pudge on the single mattress that lay on the floor of the dusty single bedroom of the worn-down apartment they called home. It was child’s play. Touching, exploring each other’s bodies with their own curious fingers. They played at kissing and rubbing their little penises against each other, but it was a mimicry of real intimacy. They didn’t know what they were doing except that they were copying adults in movies because they knew that this is what adults who loved each other did together. And because it felt good the way touching many of their body parts felt good. Freud would have claimed it was perfectly normal. Once school started up they began to spend more time apart and the play tapered off.

Growing up with a single father would have been hard enough but Uncle Donald always had trouble keeping down a job. Sometimes it was their fault, though they didn’t realize it at the time. He was juggling babysitters and pick up times and drop off times and doctor appointments and dentist appointments and trips to the emergency room. Three boys, three times the number of problems.

Until he had scraped together the money to buy the houseboat they had always lived in single bedroom apartments because Uncle Donald could never afford more than that. When they were very young, no older than toddlers, they all slept in the same bed, Uncle Donald buried beneath them, barely getting a wink of sleep but smiling when he did. Happy to fit his entire family on his chest. Later, they shared the bedroom while Uncle Donald slept on the couch or a futon or a blow-up mattress in the living room. To the boys, it seemed normal at the time. It is all they had ever known. Only later did they learn from schoolyard friends that most parents had a bedroom of their own, a bed of their own.

And so do most siblings.

By the time they moved into McDuck Manor, they had spent over a decade sleeping closely together. First on Uncle Donald’s chest and then on the frameless mattress on the floor and then stacked up in their bunks. Mrs. Beakley presented them a list of different rooms that were empty and available and instructed them to each pick one as their own. They ran from room to room, surveying the size, the way the light would come through the windows in the early morning, the proximity to the kitchen, the distance from Uncle Scrooge. Then they crowded around the woman and told her they had made their decision.

“That’s only one room, what about the other two?”

They didn’t want to be separated.

Uncle Scrooge insisted they give it a try.

“Just try it out,” he promised with a wink. “I believe you’ll find it much easier to sleep without others constantly interrupting you in the middle of the night with their tossing and turning and snoring.”

As the oldest sibling, Huey was given the room they had initially chosen for themselves. It felt strange sleeping so close to the ground. He knew he had slept even closer when he was smaller, when Uncle Donald had not been able to afford even a box spring for their old used yardsale mattress, but the last few years he had always slept on the top bunk and it had given him a sense of responsibility. He was like the noble giraffe watching over a herd of smaller herbivores. Like a mother duck hiding her brood beneath her wings.

At least the squatness of the bed made it easier for Louie to climb in with him when he appeared in the doorway shortly after midnight. His blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and he hadn’t even bothered to put on his slippers.

He didn’t ask for permission to join him. Huey gave it to him anyway. He lifted the corner of the blanket so his youngest brother could slide in beside him and he wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close to him. The younger boy had been shivering as if he were cold and his arms went around his big brother, squeezing him as if he were a beloved plushie. He gave no excuse, he never has needed to.

Dewey does. When he arrived a little before two, he had his blanket wrapped around his head and he whispered something about thinking his room was being haunted. He showed no surprise at finding Louie already in bed with their oldest brother. He joined them and Huey had another spare arm for him. Huey laid in the middle, allowing them to snuggle him from both sides, and smiled the same way Donald had smiled when they had slept on his chest.

Huey had learned everything he knew about what it was to be a man from his Uncle Donald. He had been their only role model. Their only parent. Hell, the only living relative they were aware existed until the day he dropped them off at the home of their Uncle Scrooge. Uncle Donald was their anchor. The only consistent thing in their lives besides each other as they shuffled from city to city, from apartment to apartment, from school to school. He had always been there to protect them when they needed protecting, whether it be against cruel teachers or the terrible thunder outside. And when it was all over, when they knew they were safe but they still trembled with fear despite themselves, he had always been there to comfort them. Uncle Donald is not a large man, yet he always somehow had room for all three of them in his arms. They never had to compete for his hugs.

It could have gone so differently. If Uncle Donald had been a different sort of man, a worse sort of man, Huey likely would not be the person he is today. In some ways, Huey is the most like their uncle. He has to be. As the big brother, it has always been his responsibility to take care of the younger two when Uncle Donald could not. He had to work, to support them, and he had laid the responsibility of keeping the younger two safe on Huey’s slight shoulders.

With Uncle Donald as their only role model, Huey followed his example in this approach. When a kindergarten bully began to push Louie around on the playground, he stepped in the way, taking the punch that was meant for the youngest against his own cheek. When Dewey climbed the tallest tree in their babysitter’s yard at the age of six and found himself too frightened to climb back down, Huey fetched the ladder from the garage himself and went up to fetch his little brother. When the electricity went out in one of their many apartments and Uncle Donald had to venture out alone in search of the landlord to have it fixed, Huey gathered both of them onto his bed and wrapped a blanket around them, keeping them close to him where they would not stumble over toy cars or be eaten by hidden shadow monsters. Sometimes he was frightened. Being a big brother didn’t make him any less scared of bullies or heights or monsters than his brothers, but part of being a big brother is learning to ignore that fear when you need to stand up.

Uncle Donald taught Huey warmth. He taught him compassion. He taught him responsibility and kindness and strength. Most importantly, however, he taught him selflessness.

Selflessness. Not how to dominate or how to dole our harsh discipline or to hide his tears. Uncle Donald was a man of sacrifice. He gave up everything in his life, his dreams, his musical aspirations, his relationships, to take care of them. He put everything he had into making sure they were safe and happy, and Huey absorbed this lesson well, projecting it back out into the world. But, especially, onto his brothers.

It took more than a week before Uncle Scrooge realized the three boys were still sharing a bed every night. Mrs. Beakley was the one who found them on the ninth morning, cuddled up together on a bed that was really too small for three pre-teen boys. Dewey’s leg had been hanging off the mattress and Louie was squished against the wall, his arm crushed behind his back. Mrs. Beakley had lowered her glasses, frowning at them as she informed them that their Uncle Scrooge had ordered that they be dressed and ready for a new adventure in exactly an hour.

“They’re much too old to be this dependent on each other,” she had argued when Scrooge had asked Launchpad to carry the other two beds into the single room and stack them back up into their original form. “They’ll never learn to be independent people if you coddle them like this.”

“Letting them share a bedroom isn’t going to scar them,” Scrooge laughed. “How many generations of siblings have shared bedrooms throughout history? If they’re more comfortable sleeping in the same room I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Young men all need their own privacy at times.”

Her words were vague enough that they were all capable of understanding exactly what she meant. They were already going through puberty and with puberty comes certain changes. A certain need for alone time. What Mrs. Beakley was unable to understand was the closeness of the three brothers and how easily they were able to navigate the dynamics of it all. She had never been a triplet and she had never been a teenage boy. How could she understand the intricacies of three fourteen-year-old males that had spent a good ninety percent of their lives within the same room?

Dewey gets the bedroom in the mornings. He’s the early riser of the three and the one with the largest appetite. He’s already finished breakfast and returned back to the room by the time Huey and Louie are just dragging themselves out of bed. He likes to watch himself in the mirror as he jerks off, admiring the growing size of his penis and the way the muscles in his arms are just starting to bulge. At other times, he just sits in front of the same mirror, fully dressed, and practices his guitar playing.

Louie gets the bedroom in the afternoons. Dewey is usually off somewhere with Webby by then and Huey is doing his homework in the kitchen or at one of his Woodchuck meetings. He likes to take his time, edging himself while he watches MILF porn on his phone’s screen. It can take a good hour before he allows himself to cum. When he’s done, he’ll usually lie there for another hour, watching YouTube videos or playing some phone game. When he’s feeling more ambitious he may sit at his desk and try to plan out a new scheme.

Huey gets the bedroom after dinner. He uses real magazines because there’s just something more satisfying about having actual paper there to touch and smell. While he usually is the type to take excellent care of his printed materials, there is something about seeing his semen painting the faces and bodies of the pretty young men. Once he finishes he takes advantage of the solitude to sew his badges or read a book in his bunk.

There are free times, of course. The hour before and after lunch is one of these, as is the couple hours immediately before dinner. Any of them may wander in or out at these times. And this is the time when Huey makes himself available to his brothers.

Dewey is the more reserved of the two when it comes to asking directly for Huey’s attention. When he does, he usually wants advice or just somebody to talk to. They sit on Huey’s bunk together and Dewey rests his head in his big brother’s lap and Huey strokes his hair gently as Dewey talks. Sometimes it is something small and he gets it out within a minute and then they just sit there quietly while Huey pets him. At other times, Dewey drawls on and on about his problems. About his crush on Webby and how he hates himself for it because she’s dating Lena and it feels like a betrayal to them both. Or about his insecurities at school – how high school is nothing like how he thought it would be and how all the jocks don’t give him the time of day and the girls always giggle when he tries to talk to them and what does that even mean? Or he talks about his band and how they’re threatening to kick him out because he can’t figure out the fingerwork for their new song and how can he be popular if he can’t even be the cool garage band kid?

He doesn’t usually expect an answer and many times Huey doesn’t have one but he does his best. He gives him advice if not answers and he lets him lie there as long as he wishes, being stroked like an obedient cat. These sessions are infrequent. Once every two months, three months. The gaps between them growing as Dewey grows older and begins to separate himself from his brothers. Not that they’ll ever be completely separate, they’re triplets and they are part of each other as much as their voices or their eyes.

Louie, on the other hand…

Louie is needy.

Needier than Dewey, more open about the necessity of his big brother’s comforting embrace. But he is also more reserved. He does not talk about his feelings so much as he shows them because Louie is not Dewey and he cannot express himself through words. He does not possess Dewey’s self-awareness to this degree. He is not ashamed that he needs his brother’s affection but this does nothing to help him understand himself.

It started before they even moved into McDuck Manor.

Oh, it was simpler back then. The three of them were just starting puberty and with puberty came their first wet dreams. Despite being the youngest of them, Louie had been the first one to suffer from nocturnal emissions. Confused, he had rushed to Huey’s side, on the verge of tears as he confessed that he somehow peed the bed. Huey had given him a few comfortable pats on the head and told him he would take care of it. Sheets had been stripped and the bed remade and only once he was tucked beneath his fresh, clean blankets, warm and cozy, did he explain to his baby brother that it hadn’t been urine but something else.

“It’s perfectly normal,” he had reassured Louie, brushing his bangs from his forehead. “There is nothing to be worried about.”

“Will it happen again?”

“Maybe,” Huey said. “Most likely.”

“Is there a way to stop it from happening?”

“I don’t know if it will stop it, but if you…take care of it while you’re awake I believe you’ll be less likely to have it happen when you’re asleep.”

Louie didn’t know what his brother had meant so Huey had explained it to him. The experience was less embarrassing than it could have been with Huey’s level-handed straight-forward manner. Except his explanation had not been as easy as it had sounded and Louie had rubbed himself nearly raw trying to make his little cock stand to attention. When he had gone back to Huey and asked for further instruction, Huey had taken over the entire experiment, locking their bedroom door so Dewey could not walk in and used just his hand and a bottle of lotion.

It was several weeks before Louie learned to do it on his own. Every time he tried he would have trouble getting it to stand up or he would lose his concentration and it would go down or he would be too overwhelmed by the feelings and stop before he finished. By the time he perfected the technique, the familiarity between his body and Huey’s had been cemented. He had come to associate his orgasms with his brother’s soothing words and soft, warm embrace.

Really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he began to seek Huey out in times of despair, of sadness, of desperation. When one of his ventures fell through. When Goldie pulled another scheme on him. When the class hamster he was supposed to be taking care of suddenly died on his watch. It would start as a hug, a normal display of affection between two brothers, but Huey’s smell, his heat, would trigger something in Louie and before long he would be lazily humping at Huey’s leg. Sex was still something abstract and it never occurred to them there was a way for two boys to do it so he would rub the lotion on himself and direct Huey’s hand to his erection. And, well, Huey didn’t mind it. No, more than that, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed turning Louie’s grief into pleasure. And when Louie could no longer stand to just lie still at his brother’s side, he would roll on top of him and rut at the soft skin between Huey’s thighs. It was tight and warm there and the lotion helped with the movement and Huey would just hold him as he spent himself between his legs.

They were nearly thirteen when Louie angled it wrong and pushed the head of his cock into his big brother’s opening and Huey had let out a small, sudden scream, grabbing at Louie’s shoulders to stop him from pushing it in any deeper.

Neither of them were the same naïve ten-year-olds they were when this had first started and Louie had stared down at his brother with giant, frightened eyes, realizing what he had just done. Beneath him, Huey stared back, breathing deeply, his ribs visible with adolescent scrawniness. Louie hadn’t attempted to pull out, too scared of hurting his brother, and Huey wasn’t telling him to.

“Does it, does it hurt?” Louie had asked, dazed over the idea of what had just happened. It was just the tip but that counts, right? That makes it real sex? Intercourse? He technically just lost his virginity to his own brother?

“Uh, yeah,” Huey got out. His arms were still around Louie, holding him, but they were shaking and neither knew if it was from pain or fright or excitement. “Not, not as bad when you put it in, though.”

“Can I…”

“Give me a minute.”

It had been much more painful than it should have been for Huey’s first time. The only reason it hadn’t been unbearable had been due to Dewey’s small size. Still, he had cried throughout it, clawing at Louie’s shoulders. If Louie had been a better brother, a less selfish brother, he would have stopped. He would have pulled out and apologized for what he had tried to do. Instead, he had clumsily fucked Huey’s trembling body in roughly the same way a dog humps a leg. It had been quick and shallow and he had cum much more quickly than he ever had between his thighs. When he had pulled out Huey had yelped at the pain and white liquid had seeped out of his little pink abused hole but there had been no red stain and it left no lasting damage.

After that, they were more careful. Never slow, never patient, no, not that. The preparation was quick but thorough. Louie always used his fingers to stretch him open before attempting to enter him, overgenerous with the amount of cocoa butter lotion they used as a lubricant. It wasn’t lovemaking. Not in the sense that most think of the term, anyway. It was an act of love but that between two brothers. Fraternal not romantic. Louie was not in love with Huey any more than Huey was in love with Louie. It was something familiar and comforting in times of turmoil. It was the ultimate act of Huey fulfilling his role of the protective big brother. As Donald had before him, he was sacrificing everything about himself down to his very body, his virginity, to soothe Louie’s emotional turmoil any way he could.

When he heard the door click so quietly that afternoon, Huey did not mention it to Louie for that exact reason. This was supposed to be about making his littlest brother feel better, not worse. His legs had been locked around Louie’s hips and Louie had been flush against him, buried deep inside when he heard it. Digging his chin into Louie’s shoulder, he arched up to look at the door, but it was already closed. Right outside the door, he caught the uniquely tell-tale thud of a metallic foot stepping on hardwood.

“What are you doing?” Louie breathed into his ear, drained from the physical exertion but so well trained from his self-administered edging sessions that Huey could never tell if he was almost finished or just getting started.

“My back was just a bit stiff,” Huey lied. He grabbed at one of the pillows on Louie’s bed and shoved it behind himself, giving himself something to lie back. “Sorry. I’m good. Please keep going, it was just getting good.”

Why didn’t she stop them?

Why did she just leave?

It was just the kids and Mrs. Beakley at the table that night. Uncle Scrooge was out of town visiting some boat manufacturer and Launchpad had gone along as his chauffer. Webby asked why Donald and Della weren’t joining them and Mrs. Beakley shrugged, clueless on the matter.

“They said they had something to discuss and they would grab leftovers later.”

Something to discuss.

Like catching their two sons caught in an incestuous affair.

Huey couldn’t tell Louie about it, he didn’t want to cause him undue stress. Worrying over something before it happens helps nobody. He could mention it to Dewey, the sexual relationship between his two brother’s had been but a badly kept secret from the third triplet, but Huey didn’t feel the need to saddle him with their problem either. No, as the eldest brother it fell on his shoulders to deal with the problem.

Uncle Donald was in their mother’s bedroom when Huey went to see her. His barely distinguishable voice was unmistakable. Not entirely surprising either; their mother most likely needed somebody to talk to about what she had witnessed. Advice, probably, on how to deal with such a thing. Would grounding be sufficient? Separating them into separate bedrooms? Sending one, or both, or even all three of them to different boarding schools?

Would there still be time to run away together? Dewey would come with them if they asked, Huey just knew he would. They loved their mother and they loved their Uncle but most of all they loved each other.

Huey pressed his ear to the large keyhole of the unfashioned door and listened to the two adults arguing just on the other side.

“It’s our fault,” Uncle Donald garbled out. “We can’t expect them to be any better than we were, can we? Not with our DNA inside of them!”

“Maybe it’s best if we just let it slide,” their mother pleaded. “They’re not hurting anybody. It never hurt us, did it?”

“What do you mean it never hurt us?” Uncle Donald demanded to know. “Did you forget how painful it was laying their eggs?”

“But it gave them to us. If we had been separated at their age then they wouldn’t even exist. How could you possibly see that as a bad thing?”

Huey brings his hand to his mouth, hiding a silent gasp. He knows what they’re saying, he understands the implications, but he must be interpreting this wrong. There is no way they are saying what he thinks they are saying.

“You think society will just accept that from them? Uncle Scrooge? Louie has been saying he was going to marry Huey since he was a pre-schooler and I’ve done my best to turn him away from that train of thought! Our family is like some Greek tragedy.”

“I don’t see what’s so tragic about it,” their mother says more quietly than Uncle Donald’s ravings. “I know our feelings for each other have changed with my absence but neither of us suffered for that. We have three beautiful sons. Our family is together and happy.”

“You never had your own sons refer to you as Aunt Della,” Uncle Donald replies, his voice low. “You never had to fill out adoption papers just to have your own child be recognized as yours by the state or keep your true connection to them from everyone in your life.”

“I’m sorry, Donald. You know I’m sorry.”

Huey turns, sliding down the down and landing on the ground with a small thump. He reaches up to rub at his face with his hands, unable to form a coherent thought in his mind.

Everything they just said…

Is his entire existence a lie?

It’s not like they ever had a father to begin with.

No. That’s not right. For the first eleven years of their lives they only had a father and nobody else but him.

All this time Louie had been right. Tiny little Louie on his short little legs, toddling after the man who had raised him, calling him Dad. He had been right.

And Unc…their father. He had told them not to call him that. He had told them it would be confusing if they called him Dad instead of Uncle.

But this entire time he had been their father, their real father.

Huey feels like crying. Not because of the lies and the half-truths. Not because of what was kept from them all. Not because his entire existence has been compromised.

He cries for the man he called Uncle for fourteen years who he should have by all right called Dad.

“They can’t have children, Donald,” their mother’s voice whispers through the little keyhole. “It’s not the same as you and I. I think it’s best if we just add this little secret to the rest of them.”


End file.
